


Evil Author Day 2019

by DizzyDrea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-29 04:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyDrea/pseuds/DizzyDrea
Summary: Sneak peeks at a few of my works in-flight.





	1. First Times and Second Chances (Stargate: SG-1)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I'd post to AO3 this year, in addition to posting on my DW account. If you'd rather read these there, just [click here](https://dizzydrea.dreamwidth.org/40843.html) for the master post.
> 
> The three fandoms I'm posting this year:  
> Stargate: SG-1 "First Times and Second Chances"  
> NCIS: "Dum Spiro Spero"  
> MCU/Captain America: "The Makings of Heroes"
> 
> Disclaimer: None of these fandoms belong to me. They belong to other, very talented people that it would take too long to name. Suffice to say I'm not making any money doing this. I do this for fun and for practice. Mostly for fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is one I started ages ago and have only recently started working on again. I plan to finish it soon-ish, so keep an eye out on my AO3 account for it to go up. I think I should have it done before the Rough Trade April Challenge, but if not, for sure in May. I'm actually about halfway through, but as with all stories of mine that are this long (at this point, it's probably going to top out at ~25k) it keeps growing, so we'll see.

~o~

The alarm blared into the quiet of a Monday morning, causing General Jack O'Neill's head to pop up from the report he was reading. His mental rolodex flipped through the status of the base and his teams on automatic. SG-1 was not currently deployed, but SG-3 and Dave Baldwin's team—SG-13—were both on the same planet, doing a survey. There were a couple of other teams offworld, but none on potentially dangerous missions. And no one was scheduled for a check-in for at least two more hours.

He could hear Sergeant Walter Harriman's voice through the PA system, urgent but not panicked. "Unscheduled offworld activation!"

Jack sighed and stood up. It was never a good sign when the week began with an unscheduled visit. It could very well be one of their allies, making contact for entirely benign reasons, but in Jack's experience, it was more likely to be a team coming in hot due to an unscheduled run-in with the Goa'uld.

He made his way across the briefing room and down the stairs, settling into his usual place behind Harriman to await information on just who or what they were facing.

"Incoming wormhole from P2X-388, sir," Harriman reported without prompting.

Jack raised an eyebrow. He was constantly amazed by exactly how much his people thought he'd actually retained from his experiences with the Ancient database, especially the addresses he'd entered. He didn't remember a whole lot from those experiences, but what he did retain was seared into his brain in bright Technicolor. 

The 'gate addresses hadn't been one of those things.

"We don't currently have any teams deployed to that planet," Harriman supplied.

Jack nodded. He didn't think so, but somehow that didn't make him feel any better.

"Jack."

He turned and found Daniel Jackson striding up, Sam Carter hot on his heels. 

"Daniel, Carter." He looked behind them, noticing immediately they were one short. "Where's Teal'c?"

Daniel bobbed his chin in the direction of the 'gate room, and Jack caught sight of him entering with the MPs, surrounding the 'gate with weapons drawn. Just as the last of the security team entered the room, the 'gate began to spark, as if it were being overloaded. The men pulled back, flattening their backs against the wall as they tried to get as far from the sparking as possible.

"He was at the range when the alarm went off," Daniel said as Sam stepped up to the console to try to identify the problem. "He said something at breakfast about target practice with some of the Marines."

"Any idea why the 'gate's sparking like a live wire?" Jack asked.

"Looks like a power surge," Sam said, shaking her head as she turned to address the General. "We haven't seen that since the early days of the program. Technically, it's not supposed to do that."

"That's not reassuring at all, Carter," Jack said.

"Sir, I'm getting an IDC," Harriman said, interrupting Sam's explanation.

Jack frowned. "I thought you said we didn't have any teams on -388?"

"We don't," Sam said. She moved to stand beside Harriman, leaning over to read the display, her eyes flicking through the information and absorbing it quickly. "It's an older code—" She stood up abruptly, looking at him with round eyes.

"What?"

"Sir, it's Kowalski's code."

"How's that possible?" Daniel asked. "I thought we'd locked all those old codes out of the system."

"We did," Jack said. He could feel the uneasiness roll through him. This could easily be a trick, an attempt to gain a foothold at the SGC. It'd been tried before, with limited success. Somehow, though, he didn't think that was the case. If whoever it was wanted them to open the front door, why use an out-of-date code from a man who'd been dead for nearly eight years? "Open the iris."

"Sir!" 

"Jack, do you really think that's wise?" Daniel asked, cutting across Sam's exclamation.

"If someone wanted to invade us, why use a code we're guaranteed to be suspicious of?"

Sam frowned, but Daniel looked more sanguine. "Right," he said.

"Besides," Jack went on, "this is what those Marines train for." He looked to the Sergeant, nodding his head once. "Send the 'all clear', Walter."

"Yes, sir," Harriman said. 

He placed his hand on the scanner and waited for it to recognize his authorization. The iris shifted, pulling back to reveal the familiar shimmering pool of blue at the event horizon. Below them, Teal'c looked up, eyebrow raised. Jack gave the faintest shrug of his shoulders. He was playing a hunch, hoping like hell he wasn't being played in return.

No one moved for several long seconds as they waited for something to happen. Finally, the event horizon rippled, and two people came backing down the ramp, guns drawn, watching the wormhole in front of them as if they expected someone to be following.

"Shut it down!" one of the men who'd just come through barked, just as a staff blast slapped the wall, sending the security detail diving for cover.

Harriman spared a short glance at Jack, who nodded quickly. The sergeant's hand shot out, slapping the iris control with more force than strictly necessary. The iris rotated into place, and behind that they could all hear the telltale thud of something hitting the metal without fully reintegrating.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief. How bad could it be if their unscheduled offworld activation had only turned up two men, even if they were being shot at? 

They were both dressed in the familiar olive green SGC utilities under standard-issue tac vests. Both men were carrying what appeared to be P90s, and the patches on their jackets suggested they were both part of SG-1, though from the back even Jack could tell they weren't any of the guys currently assigned to the Stargate Program, much less anyone on SG-1.

And then the two men turned around and chaos erupted.

~o~

Charles Kowalski had been in plenty of fucked-up situations in his time. Fucked-up had become a sort of standard operating procedure at the SGC in the years since he'd joined the program. He'd been snaked once, seen others snaked, watched a sun go nova, blown up multiple mother ships, and had even watched as his best friend had been slowly killed by an alien database downloaded into his brain.

None of that had in any way prepared him for what he saw when he turned around.

Arrayed around them were no less than a dozen Marines, their weapons pointed directly at him and his second in command. That, in and of itself, wasn't a surprise. They'd 'gated in hot and unscheduled; standard operating procedure dictated that the SGC scramble a security detail to the 'gate room, just in case.

No, what really took the cake today was the fact that he was staring at the First Prime of Apophis, wearing the standard issue SGC utilities and pointing a P90 at them.

On instinct, he raised his gun, pointing at the most apparent threat in the room. To his great satisfaction, the kid beside him did the same. There was a lot of shouting at that point, and to be fair, he thought maybe he'd done his fair share, but when the dust settled, they were still in a Mexican standoff, everyone still pointing their guns at everyone else, and no one showing any signs of giving up.

To his left, the blast door slid open, and Kowalski breathed a sigh of relief. He'd always trusted General Hammond; hopefully, the man could explain why he was facing down a First Prime and his own men.

Except that the man who strode through the door wasn't General Hammond. It was a ghost. A ghost wearing a General's star. Kowalski shook his head, trying to make that make sense.

"Jack?" The General winced, and Kowalski frowned. "Jack, what's going on here?"

Why aren't you dead? he wanted to ask, but thought that might be pushing it. Beside him, he could hear the Lieutenant's quietly muttered what the fuck? He couldn't agree more.

"You tell me," Jack said. 

"Look, I don't know what kind of game this is, but it's not funny," Kowalski said, angry now. "We just barely escaped a bunch of angry Jaffa, and when we get back, we're being threatened by—him! And you—I can't even explain you!"

He couldn't help a threatening glare at the First Prime, but if the Jaffa was bothered by it, he didn't show it. And no one else seemed bothered by the fact that he was there. It was all giving him a headache. All he really wanted to do was get a shower and climb into a bottle of whiskey. And not necessarily in that order.

"Kowalski."

The familiar voice drew his attention away from the Jaffa and back to Jack, but it wasn't his old friend who'd spoken. Standing beside Jack, and looking like he belonged in green utilities and new glasses, was a man he hadn't seen in years.

"Doctor Jackson?"

Daniel smiled. "Major. It's good to see you again."

"You too," Kowalski said, unable to resist returning the smile with one of his own. "And it's Lieutenant Colonel, now. I haven't seen you in a couple of years. What happened? You get tired of going native?"

"Um," Daniel said, his expression going sheepish. "Maybe we could take this someplace else?"

"Sure," Kowalski said, shrugging. He shifted his gun slightly, causing the security detail to refocus their aim on him. "Hey! Call off the dogs, okay? It's me."

"You'll have to forgive them, Colonel," Daniel said, stepping forward. Jack's hand shot out, grabbing for Daniel's arm. The two men shared a silent conversation, a long look passing between them before Jack let go and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. Daniel refocused on Kowalski, raising his hands in reassurance. "You'll have to forgive them. You see, you've been dead for nearly seven years. It's like looking at a ghost."

"I—what?"

A cold shiver slid down his spine. If Daniel was right—and he had no reason to suspect the man might not be—he'd died right around the founding of the Stargate Program. Which was obviously impossible, but it gave him a better idea of what he was facing.

Beside him, the Lieutenant shifted, leaning closer even as the MPs followed with their guns. "What's going on, sir?"

Kowalski heaved a sigh. "Kid, I think we're in an alternate universe."

~o~

Sam Carter had watched the whole scene unfold from the Control Room as she tried to figure out why the 'gate had sparked so badly. She hadn't been wrong; they'd added additional dampers and transistors to buffer the power the departure 'gate sent through, precisely to prevent this sort of thing from happening.

Of course, there were other explanations for what had happened, and as the two men who'd come through the 'gate had turned around, she'd known at once what the most likely answer would be.

"Solar flare?" 

"Maybe, but I'll have to look at the 'gate logs to be sure," Sam said as she watched security taking the two men away. The General had asked for an explanation, and while she didn't have a complete one, she was fairly certain she was right.

"But wouldn't that send them back to their point of origin?" Daniel asked.

Sam shook her head. "Theoretically. But we're talking about a phenomenon that we don't really understand, so anything's possible."

"The last time this happened we went back in time, and we ended up back where we started," Daniel said. "Clearly, that's not what happened here."

"No, it's not." Sam's eyes drifted to the 'gate room, and the memory of Charles Kowalski standing there, alive and whole. There'd been many nights, after that first mission, when she'd wished things had gone differently, wished that she'd have done things differently so they could have spared Kowalski his fate. It was futile, but she couldn't help it. He'd been a good man, and didn't deserve what happened to him. And then there was the young Lieutenant. He was familiar to her; maybe she'd passed him the last time she'd visited the Academy. It was disconcerting, like a word on the tip of her tongue that she couldn't remember. 

"This is not the first time we have encountered an alternate Major Kowalski."

All eyes swung to Teal'c as he joined them in the Control Room.

"But that Kowalski came through the Quantum Mirror," Daniel pointed out. "This one came through the front door, so to speak."

"Is it not the same Major Kowalski?" Teal'c asked.

Daniel shrugged. "He reacted about like you'd expect if he were seeing a ghost, although he didn't seem to have any idea who Teal'c was."

Sam swung her gaze back to the General. "Are you sure it's him?"

Jack winced. "It's him. At least, some version of him." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Oy. I hate this shit, Carter."

"Yes, sir," she said. She could sympathize. "Where are we going to put them?"

"Medical, to start with," Jack said. "I want the Doc to scan them both, make sure they haven't been snaked. If they're clear, we'll put them in separate interview rooms." He took a deep breath. "I'll talk to Kowalski. Daniel, I want you to talk to the kid. Carter, I need you to get to work on this. If they did come through from an alternate universe, we need to know if we can send them back."

"Yes, sir."

"Daniel, care to join me?" Jack asked. He headed for the door, not waiting for a reply

Daniel nodded; he laid a hand on Sam's arm as he passed, squeezing gently in sympathy before he followed the General out of the Control Room, Teal'c trailing faithfully behind.

~o~

The door to the interview room opened, and the young Lieutenant stood up, hoping that it'd be the man he hadn't seen in two long years. It wasn't him, but maybe that was for the best; he couldn't guarantee he wouldn't make a fool of himself. It had been two years, after all.

"Doctor Jackson, right?" the young man asked as he sat down.

The other man smiled as he pulled out the chair across from his and settled in. "Call me Daniel."

"Okay, Daniel."

"Well, your scan was clear, so you're not a Goa'uld," Daniel said.

"Didn't think I was," the Lieutenant said, smiling. "What happens now?"

"Now, we talk," Daniel said. "You obviously know who I am. What's your name?"

"Lieutenant Charles Elliot O'Neill."

Daniel sat staring at him for a couple of long minutes. Charlie fidgeted under the intensity of the stare, but he tried not to look away. Judging by the looks passing between the two men, it was obvious that Daniel was a good friend of his Dad's. This might be his only chance to find out about the man who wore his father's face in this universe.

Daniel shook his head, finally coming out of his fugue state. "I'm sorry. That was just… a bit shocking."

"I take it we've never met," Charlie said.

"No," Daniel said. There was a sad smile on his face as he spoke that made Charlie think he was probably reliving old memories. "We've never met. You—uh, the Charlie from this universe—he died. When he was eleven."

"How—what happened?"

He knew it wasn't from something like cancer, if the way Daniel's face was pinching was any indication. Still, he wasn't prepared for the shock of Daniel's words.

"He shot himself," Daniel said quietly. "With his father's gun."

"Oh my god," Charlie whispered. He rubbed a hand over his face, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling. When he went on, his voice was subdued. "When I was eleven, my folks left me at home while they went to the mall. Dad and I had been talking about going out to the gun range so I could learn to shoot, but Mom hadn't said yes yet." Charlie dropped his head, smiling wistfully at Daniel. "I knew she would, eventually. We just hadn't talked her around yet. So, that day, they went to the mall and left me at home. I snuck into my parents' bedroom and pulled out the gun."

"You knew where Jack kept it?" Daniel asked.

"'Course I did," Charlie said. "He'd put it in the same spot in his closet every time he came home from a deployment." He shrugged, giving an unapologetic smile. "Anyway, I pulled it out, just to touch it, get a feel for how heavy it was. I was pointing it at the picture above my parents' bed when I squeezed too hard on the trigger."

Daniel winced. "Bet that was a bit of a shock."

"You're telling me," Charlie said. "My aim wasn't all that great, either, because instead of putting a hole in the picture, I put a hole in the window. Scared the shit out of myself, too. So, I packed up the gun and put it back. Never said a word to my Dad."

"Didn't he notice the hole in the window?"

"Yeah." Charlie smiled. "He had a new one installed, and a week later, we went down to the range for my first lesson. He never said anything, but I think he knew."

"I'm glad there's a universe out there where you didn't die," Daniel said quietly. "It… broke your Dad, a lot, losing you. When I met him, he was a shell of a man. I'm not sure how he's going to react, knowing that you're the son he lost all those years ago."

"If it makes you feel any better, looking at him is like looking at a ghost for me," Charlie said.

Daniel frowned. "Why?"

"My Dad died two years ago," Charlie said, shrugging. "He had an Ancient database downloaded into his brain. Turns out he's good, but not that good."

"Two years ago?" Daniel asked. "What planet was this?"

"P3X-439, I think," Charlie said. "I wasn't in the program yet, but I looked it up after I joined. They were supposed to retrieve it, but something went wrong and it grabbed Dad's head instead. Thor was out of touch, and the Tok'ra couldn't help, so he died."

"Y—Jack went through something similar here, too," Daniel said. "But it was more like six months ago, and we were able to put him in stasis until Thor arrived."

"Wow," Charlie said. "So it's true, this whole thing with alternate universes."

"Sam would know better than I do, but essentially, yeah."

Charlie perked up. "Sam Carter?"

"Yes," Daniel said slowly. "Why?"

"Are she and my Dad still married?"

Daniel just sat there, blinking at him. "Um, no. They're not married. Sam's been Jack's second in command since the beginning of the program. It's against regulations for them to—"

"Bullshit," Charlie said, not at all sorry when Daniel threw him a quelling look. "Doesn't General Hammond have any pull? Or is he gone, too?"

"General Hammond's still with the program," Daniel said. "He's Jack's boss, head of Homeworld Security now."

"Well, I don't know about your Hammond, but my Uncle George pushed through a change to the frat regs back at the beginning. Dad said he knew right away the situation would become, and I quote, 'worse than a high school prom' if they didn’t amend the regs right away, but he didn't want any special favors."

Daniel chuckled. "That sounds like your Dad. Except in this universe, General Hammond took Jack and Sam at their word and didn't push for a change to the regulations."

"Maybe you could ask Uncle George for him," Charlie said.

"And why would I do that?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie sighed. "Because my Dad deserves a little bit of happiness, and I know Sam was able to give that to him." He paused as a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Unless my Mom's still alive in this universe?"

"Alive?"

"She was killed in a car crash, when I was twelve," Charlie said. He dipped his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It was still hard to talk about sometimes, even all these years later. "I guess that's why Sam and I bonded so well. She knew exactly what it felt like to lose your mother."

"Yes, she does," Daniel agreed quietly. "But to answer your question, Sarah is still alive. She and your Dad divorced not long after—do you know about the first mission to Abydos?"

"As much as the report says," Charlie said. "I know you were on it, and Colonel Kowalski and Dad. They never talked about it, and you didn't come back with them, so I only know that they blew up Ra's mothership before they gated back home."

"Ah," Daniel said. "Well, that's pretty much what happened. Except that, when Jack got home, it was to find divorce papers waiting for him. After you—after what happened, they drifted apart, I guess you could say."

"So, my Mom's alive?" Charlie asked. "Can I see her?"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Charlie," Daniel said, not unkindly. "Providing we can recreate the conditions that landed you here, we'll be sending you back to your universe. It might do more harm than good for her to meet you. Plus, she's not really cleared to know anything about the program."

"Yeah," Charlie said, sighing resignedly. He'd known it was a longshot, but he had to ask. "Could I see my Dad?"

Daniel smiled. "Now that I might be able to arrange."

~o~

Jack took a deep breath as he reached for the knob to open the door. He wasn't exactly eager to go inside, considering what was waiting for him. Or rather, who was waiting for him.

If he'd thought it was bad the last time a Charlie Kowalski had come through from an alternate universe, this was somehow worse. At least last time, he'd been able to send that one home, albeit to his death. And what was it about his life that he could say this: each time he'd met a Charlie Kowalski, the man had died?

Jack bit back a sigh. The airman standing guard outside Kowalski's room had started shifting on his feet, a clear sign that he was concerned with why the General would be standing outside the room, basically stalling. Well, the interview wasn't going to happen with him standing on this side of the door. He turned his head and gave Teal'c—who'd followed him and stationed himself across from the interview room—a brief nod, receiving one in return. Then, he flashed a smile at the airman before turning the knob and pushing through the open door.

Kowalski stood up, cocky smile still in place.

"Somebody made you a General, huh?"

Jack winced. "Wasn't my idea. You know me: resist responsibility until the bitter end."

He took a seat across the table from Kowalski, leaning forward on his arms. Kowalski settled in opposite him with a grin. "I call bullshit on that. You're a better leader than you've ever given yourself credit for being. Remember that thing in Afghanistan?"

They stared at each other for the space of a few heartbeats. Jack did remember Afghanistan, only too well. Still, it was strange, sharing that memory with a man who, despite appearances, was a stranger to him.

"Right," Kowalski said, shaking his head. "So, what's the deal? Are we gonna get shipped off to Area 51 for further 'examination'? Or are you gonna try to send us home? 'Cuz I gotta tell ya, the hospitality around here sucks."

Oh yeah, that was the Charlie Kowalski he knew, no doubt about it. Jack couldn't hide the smile, or the relief he felt at knowing that.

"Carter's working on it," he said, waving his hand. "If anyone can figure it out, she can."

"Carter, huh?" Kowalski said. His smile slid into a smirk as he leaned back in his chair. "You're calling your wife 'Carter' these days?"

"Wife?" Jack asks, eyebrow raised. What he really wanted to do was either yell at the top of his lungs or do a happy dance, but he settled for the eyebrow. "What is it with all these alternate realities where we're always married to each other?"

Kowalski frowned. "You're not married?"

"Nope," Jack said, popping the 'p' just for effect.

"Huh."

Jack shifted uncomfortably. "I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you still look a little like you've seen a ghost."

"You're not wrong," Kowalski said. "Where I come from, you're dead."

"Baal's Pleasure Palace?" Jack asked, thinking that was the logical point of divergence.

"That was you?"

"You mean, that was you?"

"Yeah." Kowalski's voice was tight, his eyes pinched. "I got sick—"

"With an Ancient flu bug, so I had to get—"

"Snaked to save my life." Kowalski blinked. "Damn. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy, much less my best friend. Yu rescued you?"

"Sort of," Jack said. "Daniel kinda broke the glowy-people rules and pointed Teal'c in the right direction. He called Yu."

"Yeah, about that," Kowalski said, leaning forward. "What's with the First Prime wandering around the base? Shouldn't he be somewhere being dissected?"

"Teal'c's been a valuable ally," Jack said. "He helped us escape from Apophis' palace on that first mission to Chulak."

"Wait, you mean Apophis captured you?" Kowalski leaned back, shaking his head. "You must be slipping."

"You didn't get captured?"

Kowalski shook his head. "General Hammond delayed the mission a day, just to make sure we had all the intel we were gonna need—a strategy you agreed with, I might add—then sent us to scope out the planet. By the time we got there, everyone was gone."

Jack winced. "What about Sha're?"

"The Tok'ra captured and de-snaked her, then sent her back to Abydos. That's how we made contact with them."

"Huh."

Jack was actually surprised at how different things were. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know how he—the other him—had died. It might be too weird. Or turn into a self-fulfilling prophecy, and that was the last thing he needed.

"So, you're here."

"Hey, wasn't my idea, buddy." Kowalski shook his head, accepting the change in topic with the ease born of familiarity. 

"Well, Carter's gonna ask, so care to tell me how exactly it happened?"

Kowalski sighed. "We were supposed to be doing recon on P2X-388. The MALP had detected a possible source of naquadah, so we gated in, but apparently we weren't the only ones interested."

"Jaffa," Jack said, nodding. "They didn't show up on the MALP?"

"No," Kowalski said. "We figured they'd been there for a while. I left Delmas and Smith at the 'gate, so when we ran across the Jaffa, I radioed them to dial home and not leave the door open. When the kid and I got to the 'gate, we dialed home like normal, and wound up here."

"You didn't notice anything strange?" Not that Jack would know what strange would be, but he figured he should ask.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Kowalski said. "Look, I know this is weird, and if I could have avoided it, I would have. But you have to admit, it was nice to see me again, right?"

Jack smiled. "Yeah, it's good to see you again."

"Well, there you go."

Jack only hoped it was that simple.

~o~

Jack let the door fall quietly shut behind him and just stood for a moment, watching the young man across from him. 

Charlie.

His son.

Alive and well, and apparently following in his father's footsteps. He felt an overflow of pride in his chest, for all that this kid had been able to do that his son hadn't, even as the pain of loss surged forward again.

Charlie was sitting with his head pillowed on his arms, obviously oblivious to the world around him. Jack felt another pang of sorrow, at how much it must be hurting the kid, knowing that there was a man within reach who both was and wasn't his father. And that thought brought a stabbing pain in his head as he tried to sort out the whole alternate universe thing.

Tucking his hands into his pockets, he pushed that aside as he cleared his throat. An amused smile teased at his lips as he watched Charlie jump up from the table, his chair clattering behind him.

"Dad!" he practically shouted as he scrambled to attention, then, "Sir!"

"Charlie," Jack said. He wanted to go over and fold the kid into the biggest hug he could, but he held back. He wasn’t really the father Charlie had lost, and Charlie wasn't really his son, and he had to remember that.

"It's good to see you," Jack said. He took in the stiff posture and the way Charlie was carefully not looking at him, but rather at a point somewhere over his left shoulder, and winced. "At ease, kid. For cryin' out loud."

Those words seemed to melt the kid, because he relaxed back into something a little more slouchy than parade rest as a smile lit his face. Standing like this, with his boyish good looks and the charm of his smile, Jack felt the guilt wash through him once more. But it was dulled by time and distance, so he set it aside. No sense torturing himself over things he couldn't change.

"It's good to see you, too, Sir," Charlie said. "It's… been a while."

"So I heard," Jack said. He made no move to sit down, and neither did Charlie. Neither of them looked especially comfortable, which didn’t surprise Jack. What did one say to the dead son who was standing in front of you, clearly not dead?

The silence stretched as the two men looked at each other. Up close, Jack could now see that Charlie had a lot of his mother in him. His smile, his hair, which had lightened to a sandy blonde more like his ex-wife's than his. He was tall like Jack—like they'd always imagined he would be—and had the brown eyes typical of an O'Neill. It was like looking at a younger version of himself.

Jack shook off those thoughts. He so didn't want to remember that there was a mini-me running around the planet. He'd given permission to save the kid, but he really didn't want to contemplate the consequences.

"So, Air Force, huh?"

"Yeah," Charlie said, his smile growing. "Graduated top ten; managed to beat my Old Man at something."

Jack chuckled. "And how would you know that?"

"I checked," Charlie said. "You graduated 25th in your class. All that bullshit about not having any idea what Sam's talking about is just that: bullshit."

"Carter likes to feel useful," Jack said, shrugging. "Besides, if I let on that I have any idea at all what she's talking about, she'd still be talking a week later. Not something we usually have time for."

"Sure," Charlie said, smile still in place. "Whatever you say, Dad."

Both men froze. Jack winced as he saw the pained look crossing his son's face. And it was his son in the room with him, despite the fact that they were from two different universes. The son he'd believed he would never see again. And if it weren't for the Stargate and alternate universes and science he wished he didn't understand, he probably wouldn't see the kid again after today.

He was crossing the room before he'd even made the decision, drawing the young man who was and wasn't his son into his arms. Charlie stood stock still for a moment before he melted into the embrace. Charlie laid his head on Jack's shoulder, his hands gripping the back of Jack's shirt like he was afraid his father was going to disappear any second. 

Jack could feel the kid's breath on his neck, the steady beat of his heart in his chest. Tears burned at his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. Charlie took a few hitching breaths, swallowing hard a time or two as if to control his own emotions.

"I've missed you, you know?" Charlie mumbled into his neck.

Jack sighed, shifting his head to drop a kiss into Charlie's hair. "I know, kid. I've missed you, too."

They stood like that for a few moments, nothing but the two of them and a moment that shouldn't have been possible, but one that Jack wouldn't trade for anything. Finally, Charlie pushed back, taking a step away, but still firmly within arm's reach.

"So, what do we do now?" he asked as he brushed away the few tears that had escaped his control.

"Now, we wait for Carter to do her thing," Jack said, smiling softly. "In the meantime, you want a tour?"

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Dad, I work here, remember?"

"And do you have an Xbox hooked up to the screen in the briefing room?"

"Does Sam know about this?" Charlie asked.

Jack winced. "What Carter doesn't know won't hurt her."

"Yeah, but it might hurt you," Charlie said.

His laughter at the panicked look Jack gave carried out into the corridor.

~o~


	2. Dum Spiro, Spero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this after NCIS episodes 12.24 (Neverland) and 13.1 (Stop the Bleeding), in which Gibbs is shot by a kid he was trying to protect. I'm not sure what about that scenario triggered a Gibbs/Borin plot bunny, but here it is. I still quite like the idea, so I may return to it this year after I've finished a couple of other projects. We'll see. In the meantime, enjoy!

~o~

The call comes in the middle of the night, waking her from a sound sleep. Abigail Borin is used to these late-night calls by now. She taps the screen where she knows the answer button is, not even bothering to open her eyes as she holds the phone to her ear.

"Borin," she says, going from sound-asleep to fully awake in seconds.

"Gibbs has been shot," a familiar voice says instead of a greeting.

Abby sits up in bed as she grips the phone even tighter. Her heart is constricting painfully in her chest, but she ignores it; the traitorous little thing's been doing that for a while now, so she's got practice.

"DiNozzo?" she says as her mind supplies an image of him from their last case together. His voice is tight and a little staticky, so he's got to be somewhere far away. "What the hell's going on?"

"We've been chasing a terrorist cell," he says, words clipped, as if he's got to rush to get it all out. "He was shot while we were looking for the leader."

"Do you know who did it?" she asks. She's still an investigator, can't help herself even if that's not what she really wants to know.

"It was a kid, Abby," DiNozzo says, bitterness in ever syllable. "He was shot by the kid he's been trying to help."

And isn't that just like Leroy Jethro Gibbs. "Where?"

"Once in the leg, once in the chest," he says, knowing what she's asking. "They've choppered us out to the Daniel Webster. He's in pretty bad shape. I can't—Abby, I've got to find this guy. I can't—"

"Tony," she says, stopping his ramble. Tony DiNozzo is usually calm, cool and collected, but this is Gibbs they're talking about. "Go do what you have to do. I'll take care of Gibbs."

Tony gusts out a breath, loud in the dark and quiet of her room. "Thanks, Abs. I owe you one."

"No you don't," she says, ghosting a smile. "But thanks anyway."

The line goes dead, not so much as a goodbye or good luck, but that's okay. Abby knows that Tony's got bigger things to worry about.

She flops back down, staring at the ceiling in the dim light filtering in through the window. This isn't how she'd expected her day to start. Despite what she'd said to Tony, there really isn't much she can do until they hear from the doctors. Knowing she's not getting any more sleep tonight, she pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, heading for the shower.

~o~

She's read the same page of the same case file three times already and it's still not making sense. The words are blurring together, making her head hurt, but she's not stopping. She needs the distraction, even if it's not really working. 

"Shouldn’t you be home sleeping?"

Abby's head pops up. She hadn't heard a thing, and yet her boss is standing right in front of her, a concerned frown on his face. She shakes her head, more to wake herself up than to clear her vision. Nothing's going to help that except sleep, and she knows she's not sleeping anytime soon.

"Can't sleep," she says, voice tight. "Figured I might as well get something done."

"Right," Director Beckman says, one skeptical eyebrow raised. He circles her desk and settles on a corner, concerned gaze fixed squarely on her. "Which is why you've been reading the same page of that report for the last fifteen minutes."

She leans back in her chair, tossing her pen onto the pile of papers littering her desk. She lets out a deep sigh, one hand raised to rub at her forehead before she runs it through her hair. She lets her head fall back against the chair but she can't close her eyes. 

"Gibbs has been shot," she says quietly.

"Jethro?" Beckman asks. "How the hell did that happen?"

Abby shrugs. "He trusted the wrong person—a kid—and it got him shot. I told DiNozzo I'd worry about Gibbs while he worried about finding whoever ordered the shot, but…"

"Unless you're his emergency contact, they won't tell you anything," Beckman finishes for her. He reaches out and squeezes her shoulder. "Let me make some calls, see what I can find out. Meantime, you go get a refill. Looks like it's been a while since you had any coffee."

"Gee, thanks," she says, aiming a half-hearted smirk at him. She sits up, shuffling a few papers into their proper files before giving up. She braces her elbows on the desk, letting her head rest in her hands for just a moment. When she looks up, Beckman is still there. She nods at him. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet," he says as he rises. "Thank me when you're on a transport to wherever the hell Gibbs is."

~o~

True to his word, Abby is on a transport headed for Incirlic within the hour. She doesn't know who he had to bribe, threaten or blackmail to make it happen, and she doesn't really care. When she lands in Turkey, there'll be a COD waiting to take her out to the carrier where Gibbs is fighting for his life.

She wills the man to hang on until she gets there.

~o~

Abby steps through the hatch, leaving behind the noise and chaos of the flight deck. A young seaman steps in behind her as she tugs off the helmet.

"Coast Guard, huh?" he asks, smiling at her as he moves past her and down the corridor, expecting her to follow. "You're a little far from home, aren't you?"

She grunts, but otherwise doesn't reply.

"The Doc asked me to escort you straight to Sick Bay, if that's alright with you, ma'am?"

"Fine," she says. She shifts her backpack higher on her shoulder and follows him through corridors, down stairs (Ladders, ma'am; this is the Navy) and through hatches until they reach the Infirmary.

"I can take your bag, ma'am," he says when they arrive outside the medical quarters. "You'll be staying in Officer's Country. I'll be by later to show you to your cabin."

"Thanks," she says, giving him a wan smile as she turns over her backpack to the young, smiling crewman. She keeps her badge and gun, not that they represent anything approaching authority on a Naval vessel, but she feels better for having them.

With a nod and a smile, he heads back down the corridor. Abby squares her shoulders and pushes through the door.

~o~

"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," the doctor says. "Who names their kid Jethro anymore?"

"Jackson Gibbs," Abby says, daring the doctor to say something.

He looks up at her from the file he's thumbing through, offering a cockeyed smile. "Old-fashioned name for an old-fashioned guy?"

Abby snorts. "Something like that."

"Well, it says here that Gibbs' emergency contact is someone named Anthony DiNozzo, but his alternate contact is Abigail Borin." The doc glances up at her. "You don't look like a DiNozzo, so I'm guessing you're Borin."

Abby barely nods, still a bit overcome with shock that Gibbs had put her down as his alternate emergency contact. He'd never said anything, but she knows Gibbs well enough to know he wouldn't trust just anyone to make decisions on his behalf if he were—

The doc tosses the file aside and holds out his hand. "Cyril Taft. I'm Agent Gibbs' surgeon."

Abby shakes his hand. "CGIS Special Agent Abigail Borin."

"Coast Guard, huh?" Taft says. He looks like he's going to say something else, but he must see something in her expression that makes him think twice. He leans back against his desk and crosses his arms. "Gibbs was in pretty bad shape by the time I got to him. The knee was easy enough to treat—full knee replacement; incredible technology, really, so he'll never really notice it's not his original knee—but the GSW to the torso shattered on impact. Took a while to find all the pieces. Plus, he had a sneaky bleeder that almost did him in. He came through the surgery fine, though it was touch-and-go there for a bit. At this point, the longer he keeps breathing, the better his chances are. If I were a betting man—which I absolutely am when it comes to me—I'd say he'll pull through just fine."

"Jesus," Abby mutters, running a hand through her hair.

"I figured you wouldn't want it sugar-coated."

"You're not wrong," she says. She takes a deep breath as the knowledge settles in. She isn't too late; he's still alive, and by the looks of him, Doctor Taft intends to make sure he stays that way. "So, what happens now?"

"Now? Now we wait. I've done all I can; the rest is up to him. Once he's stabilized, we'll transfer him to Ramstein."

Abby nods, distracted by the thought that Jethro Gibbs might not survive. She doesn't know how to live in a world that doesn't have him in it. "Can I see him?"

"Sure," Taft says, shrugging. "Might do him good to hear a familiar voice."

~o~

"Jesus," is the first thing out of her mouth when she sees Gibbs in Recovery.

She makes her way to his bedside, her eyes in constant motion, assessing the injuries she can see and the ones she can't. His head is bandaged—no one said anything about a head wound—but then again, the head wound is the least of his worries. He's pale and swathed in bandages, but he's breathing on his own and the heart monitor is beeping out a steady rhythm.

When she finally makes it to his bed, her worry and anxiety have morphed into anger. 

"You son of a bitch," she says, louder than she'd planned to, but she doesn’t intend to take it back, no matter the weird looks she's getting from the medical staff scattered around the room. She reaches for his hand—the one not sporting the IV and pulse-ox monitor—and gives it a good squeeze. "You are not allowed to die on me, you bastard. Do you hear me?"

"Haven't yet."

Abby startles. She hadn't realized he could hear her, much less that he's awake and able to respond.

"Yeah, well, see that you don't," she replies weakly. "I don't want to have to explain it to DiNozzo. It might kill him."

"Wouldn’t want that," Gibbs mutters. He pauses, and Abby thinks maybe he's gone back to sleep, but apparently he's just drifting in that way that people do when they're coming off the anesthesia. "Thanks, Abby."

"Anytime," she says, squeezing his hand as she blinks back tears she refuses to shed.

She waits for him to say something else, but apparently he's out again. She glances around, looking for a chair or stool to sit on when a nurse makes his way over with a rolling stool. She smiles her thanks and drops onto the stool, never letting go of Gibbs' hand.

"We're not done yet, Mister," she says, reaching her other hand out to smooth back some of his hair. "Not by a long shot."

And with those words, she settles in to wait.

~o~


	3. The Makings of Heroes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this one a while back, probably during the run-up to Winter Soldier. There was a lot being said and written about just how the Super Soldier Serum worked, and whether it's even plausible. I took that research and turned it into this. I do plan to return to this story at some point, though it's currently a low priority. In the meantime, enjoy this snippet!

~o~

Pain, sharp and bright, dancing along nerve endings, whiting out everything.

And the cold, digging deep under the skin, stealing his breath away.

The creeping numbness that spread like a cancer through his body.

And then nothing.

~o~

When Steve Rogers awoke, the sense of deja-vu almost knocked him out again. But this time there was no baseball game playing on the radio, no strange sounds in the distance that he couldn't place. This time there were voices, voices he recognized, voices raised to the point of yelling and his head hurt quite enough thank you very much.

"They must be reading it wrong. Lord knows you can't trust doctors any farther than you can throw them. Present company excepted, of course." That was Tony; he'd recognize Stark's voice anywhere.

"Tony." The warning tone was obvious, as was Pepper Potts' exasperation with her lover.

He would have laughed at Bruce Banner's, "You do know I'm not that kind of doctor, right?" if it hadn't been for the fact that he was too busy trying to keep his head from exploding.

All of which confirmed to him that this was the present, and the cold and biting numbness hadn't been from the ice but from... something else. Something that was still a little fuzzy around the edges.

"Tony, for the love of God, please shut up!"

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I work here, remember?"

And that was Maria Hill. Never one to back down and completely unafraid to challenge Tony Stark on his own turf.

"Can you keep it down?" he muttered, finally resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to pass out anytime soon, no matter how much he might want to.

Cool hands on his forehead made him open his eyes. Maria's face filled his vision, a worried frown pinching her brow. "You're okay. Stark's got you in the infirmary at Avenger's Tower."

He could hear the indistinct beep of the heart monitor, and the uncomfortable pinch of the nasal cannula told him that he'd been hurt badly enough to require medical intervention. But instead of having to go to the nearest hospital, Stark had set up an entire medical wing in the Tower after the fall of SHIELD. 

When Steve had shown up, battered and bruised from his battle with Hydra and the Winter Soldier, Tony had said that the Avengers were going freelance, because somebody clearly needed to mind the store, since SHIELD wasn't up to the task anymore. Steve hadn't gotten but every third word or so during the whole rant, but the sentiment came through loud and clear. No more SHIELD equaled no more safety net in Tony's mind, so he'd set about using his considerable wealth to make sure the Avengers had what they needed. 

Steve's apartment in the Tower had lain undisturbed while he'd been in DC, so when he'd moved back, Tony had included him in the ebb and flow of daily life as if he'd never been gone. Of course, at the moment, daily life included Tony and Pepper, Bruce, Steve, and now Maria, who'd become a fixture in his life after the battle.

So it made sense that all the people he was closest to at the moment were gathered in his hospital room. The only thing he couldn't figure out was why. Why was he in the hospital in the first place?

"You don't remember what happened, do you?" Maria asked.

He shook his head, then realized maybe he shouldn't have done that when the room started spinning. "No," he croaked out. "What happened?"

He frowned. His voice sounded strange in his own ears. Higher and thinner than he remembered. More like when he was a kid and the scrawniest one on the block. But that couldn't be right. He was Captain Steve Rogers—Captain America—not that skinny whelp who couldn't stop sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

He looked down, or tried to look down, to see his body resting in the hospital bed, but Maria caught his chin and nudged it back up so he could meet her eyes. But the little glimpse he'd gotten froze the breath in his lungs. His chest, which had been wide and healthy and strong, was gone, barely visible under the blankets he was wrapped in.

He lifted a hand, gazing at it beyond Maria's worried face. The fingers were long and delicate, not the dinner plates Bucky had teased him about after they'd found him in the Hydra POW camp. That wasn't right either. None of this was right. None of it felt right.

He could feel it then, the familiar band tightening in his chest. He started to wheeze, breath being stolen from his lungs before he could even suck in oxygen. Panic rolled through him as the memories came flooding back, of being hit by some sort of energy beam, the pain as it lanced through his body, and then the cold, black nothingness that he'd thought was just a memory from the ice.

"Steve!" Maria called to him urgently. She laid her hands on his cheeks and forced him to look at her. "Breathe, Steve. In. Out. In. Out."

She breathed with him, long breaths in and out, the same way the Bucky used to when they were kids. The panic started to recede; clearly he was still able to breath, but it was still labored. Asthma, like when he'd been younger. It had been over five years since he'd had an attack. Project Rebirth had taken care of that for him, and he'd never been more grateful. But it was back now and—he wasn't going to think about it. Thinking about it would just make him panic all over again, which wouldn't help.

Maria pressed something into his hand. He looked down at it, completely baffled.

"It's a rescue inhaler." He frowned, but she only smiled gently at him. "Asthma treatment's come a long way since you were a kid. Here, let me show you."

She took the little device and fiddled with it for a bit, then pressed the opening to his lips. "When I squeeze, inhale the medication and hold it for a count of ten, then exhale, okay?"

Steve nodded. She pressed the button and he felt the mist of medication bloom in his mouth. He inhaled, nearly choking on the heavy mixture before blowing it out, likely not even three seconds later, coughing at the strangeness of it all. Maria simply smiled again, rubbing his back as he fought through the cough.

When it finally subsided, he fell back against the pillows, exhausted. Oddly, he could breathe easier now. Whatever was in that thing was a miracle drug as far as he was concerned.

"Better?" Maria asked.

"Yeah," Steve said, nodding even as he coughed a little more. "What the hell is that?"

"Rescue inhaler," she said, holding it up and pointedly putting it down on the bedside table. "You'll get used to it. It just takes practice."

"Beats talk therapy," Steve said, closing his eyes.

"What?" Tony asked. "Who thought seeing a shrink was a good therapy for asthma?"

"Back in the 30's, Asthma was believed to be a psychosomatic disorder," Bruce said. And of course he'd know about this. Despite his protestations, Bruce knew a lot about the human body from his work. He just didn't like to talk about it because of what that work had produced.

"The doctors told my mother that I needed therapy to fix it, but we didn't have the money," Steve said. He opened his eyes and looked at Maria. "Bucky used to help me with my breathing. How did you know?"

Maria reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead. "My little brother has asthma. I used to help my Mom with him. I always carried a spare inhaler with me, just in case. His attacks could be so scary; we almost lost him one night. I never wanted to see my brother struggle to breathe again, so I kept an eye on him, made sure he took his meds."

She shrugged, glancing away as if embarrassed by what she'd said, but Steve could only be grateful. Grateful that things had changed and there were now medicines that could help, grateful that people understood that it wasn't all in the head. Grateful that his girlfriend understood the problem and knew what to do when he couldn't do it himself.

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing as hard as he could. She turned suspiciously moist eyes to him, but he didn't let on that he'd seen. She was a strong woman, and liked to think that others never saw her moments of vulnerability. Steve let her think that because he cared too much to humiliate her, in public or private.

"So," he said, turning back to the rest of the room. "Anyone want to tell me why my asthma is back and why I look like a 90 pound weakling again?"

~o~

"What do you remember about the last few days?"

Steve sighed. It was all still a little fuzzy, but there were things he remembered. "Sam and I had a lead on Bucky. JARVIS had spotted someone matching his profile wandering around Brooklyn. Sam thought it was probably a case of mistaken identity, but…"

"But you wanted to check it out yourself," Maria filled in the rest. 

"You've had dozens of hits in the last six months," Bruce said. "What made this one stand out?"

"Brooklyn," Steve said, shrugging. "We grew up in Brooklyn. If his memories are coming back, it makes sense he'd want to revisit some familiar places."

"So you thought you'd go out there by yourself?" Tony said, clearly still agitated, if the tone and volume of his voice was anything to go by. "Without backup? You do know you have friends, don't you? Superhero friends, even. I mean, I'm a little insulted you didn't even ask for my help."

"Stark!" Maria barked.

"What? Am I wrong?"

"Not the point, Tony," Pepper said, turning her death-ray glare on him.

"What else do you remember?" Bruce asked.

"Cold. Pain. Numbness." Steve shuddered. "It felt like being back in the ice. No, it felt like being struck by lightning and then being stuck in the ice. What was that?"

"We think you were hit by some sort of energy weapon," Bruce said. "JARVIS's scans indicate that the Super Soldier Serum is still in your body, it's just being prevented from bonding with your cells."

"So that's why the asthma's back, and why I feel so weak," Steve said, almost to himself. "But why haven't I aged? I mean, if the serum's not working, shouldn't I be 90 years old?"

Bruce shrugged. "My best guess is that the serum didn't repair your original health issues so much as block them from manifesting. But new damage, it could heal. I would think that aging would be considered 'new damage'."

"So, whoever came after Steve knew how to neutralize him," Maria said.

"Makes sense," Tony said. All eyes turned to him. "What? If Hydra was looking for The Winter Soldier, same as you, it makes sense they'd have a weapon that would render him unable to attack them. What better weapon than one that can take away his advantages: his super strength and healing ability?"

"You think this was Hydra?" Steve asked. If that were the case, he was lucky he hadn't been killed.

"They were probably following you," Tony said, shrugging. "It's not like you've made it a big secret that you're looking for The Winter Soldier."

"Shit," Steve said, rubbing a hand over his face. If Hydra had been following him, hoping he'd lead them to Bucky… he just had to remember that they hadn't gotten to him. Wait… "They didn't catch him, did they? Bucky?"

"According to available surveillance data, Sergeant Barnes has left New York," JARVIS put in.

"Thanks, J," Tony said.

"Wait, you had JARVIS following me?" Steve asked.

"I slapped a polymer tracker patch on your neck the last time you visited," Tony said, shrugging. "Figured it couldn't hurt. Looks like I was right."

"Jesus, Tony!" Maria said. "Did you put one of those on everyone?"

Tony shrugged again. "Pretty much. I like knowing where my friends are."

"Stalker," Maria muttered, but Steve could see that she was relieved, even just a little. Tony's paranoia had enabled him to find Steve immediately after the attack and get him medical help. 

"So, now what?" Steve asked.

"Now we try to figure out how they did this to you so we can undo it," Tony said.

"If you want to," Bruce said. 

He'd taken his glasses off and was cleaning them on his lab coat, so the words were spoken to his shoes and not to Steve, but he got why Bruce was giving him an out. He hadn't always been Captain America, and he'd made some sacrifices to become the hero everyone needed. But he knew that he had done good as Captain America, and could continue to do good as Captain America. He could still contribute if they couldn't fix him, but the idea of going back—of staying the skinny, scrawny, frustrated kid—made his stomach turn. It wasn't that he thought he needed to be Captain America to be a hero, just that he knew there would always be things he couldn’t do unless he remained the Captain.

"I want to," Steve said, nodding.

"Then I guess we've got some research to do," Tony said, clapping his hands together. "There's an anomalous energy reading in JARVIS's scans. Could be what's causing the serum to free-float and not bind to your cells. Care to take a walk through Caps' insides, Bruce?"

Bruce cringed, but nodded. "Sure."

Both men practically ran from the room, Tony with an irreverent salute that made Steve snort, albeit with a smile. Once they'd gone, it was just Steve, Maria and Pepper.

"Are you okay, Steve, really?" Pepper asked.

Steve shrugged. "As hospitals go, this one isn't bad. As long as the food isn't awful, I think I'm good."

And it wasn't. Tony had spared no expense—literally—to redesign the Tower in the wake of the Battle of Manhattan. In addition to expanded lab space for him and Bruce, he'd incorporated more common areas for whichever Avengers happened to be in residence, plus private apartments for each of them. The infirmary had been done in muted shades of grey and taupe; the walls warm and the artwork more expensive than the apartment he'd grown up in. The end result, though, was a space that didn't feel clinical and that Steve would be if not happy then at least less unhappy to spend time in. It beat the room in Walter Reed he'd occupied for nearly a week after the fall of SHIELD.

"That I can promise you," Pepper said with a smile. She patted his arm and turned to go, pausing near the door. "If there's anything you need—anything at all—just let JARVIS know. I'm sure he'll be happy to help in any way he can."

"Indeed I will, Captain Rogers," JARVIS chimed in.

"Thank you both," Steve said.

Pepper smiled, then slipped out the door, leaving Steve and Maria alone at last.

"Are you really okay?" she asked as she sat on the bed beside him. 

She looked smart in her skirt and blouse, like the corporate executive she was now. When she'd come on board, Pepper had insisted on taking her shopping—something Maria had complained about loud and long one night—as part of her signing bonus. He liked this new, more feminine Maria Hill, but there were times he could admit to missing the badass woman he'd first met at SHIELD.

"I'm tired, my breathing is rough and I ache like I was hit by a train," he said, smiling at her. "Otherwise, I feel fine."

Maria ran her fingers through his hair as she chuckled. "So, just another day at the office for you."

"Something like that," Steve said. "Did the doctor say what else I got back, besides the asthma?"

"Your heart arrhythmia is back," she said quietly. "Tony, for reasons I don't want to look at too closely, had your medical records, from before the war. Doctor Loeb says that you're no worse off than you were before Project Rebirth. He's got you on blood thinners, and some IV asthma medication until you stabilize. You'll have to stay on the asthma meds, and keep the rescue inhaler close by, but he doesn't think there's any reason not to release you if you'll promise to stay in the Tower where JARVIS can monitor you."

Steve sighed. "Well, it could be worse."

"Why don't you get some rest," she said, brushing his hair off his forehead again.

"You'll stay?" he asked.

Instead of answering, she kicked her shoes off and climbed on to the bed, settling down at his side, careful of the tubes and wires. "No place else I'd rather be."

Steve held her close and let himself drift off, the soft beep of the heart monitor and the warmth of the woman he loved lulling him to sleep.

~o~

A week later, Steve found himself unusually restless. Ordinarily, when he was between missions for SHIELD and the occasional attempt by some group or alien race to test the waters, so to speak, he'd spend his time training. Not that he needed it, but he found sparring and working out to be calming. It allowed him to take a vacation from his thoughts because—especially when sparring—he had to be fully in the moment or risk getting his head knocked off. 

Well, not really. He hadn't found anyone yet besides Thor who could really present a challenge to him, physically, though sparring with Natasha always helped him refine his technique and remember not to rely solely on brute strength. Natasha was a blow to his ego on a good day, but he wouldn't trade the friendship they'd developed during the fall of SHIELD for anything.

Now, though, he felt a little at loose ends. He couldn't go jogging—doctor's orders, at least for a little while—and sparring and weight lifting were out. He was too unaccustomed to his new body, and frankly too tired, to really do much. It was frustrating in a way life hadn't been for five years—or 75 years, depending on how one counted these things.

And because he hadn't figured on moving back to New York yet, despite the fact that he'd pretty much been based out of Avenger's Tower since the fall of SHIELD, all his art supplies were in storage along with everything else from his DC apartment. But just when he'd decided to defy doctor's orders and go out to get some paper and pencils at least, a supply of his favorites turned up on his coffee table. He'd thought maybe Maria had gone to his storage unit, but she had barely left the Tower in the week since he'd been—shrunken was the best idiom he could come up with, even if Tony thought it sounded a lot like what a cannibal would do. 

He suspected it might have been Tony himself. He liked to appear unconcerned about anyone else but himself (and Pepper), but Steve knew that under all that armor (real and figurative) beat the heart of a mother hen. He'd made room for all of them in the Tower, sparing no expense and tailoring each apartment to the tastes of the occupant. Steve's own apartment reminded him of his place in Brooklyn when he was a kid. All the furniture was new, but it all had that homey, lived-in feel. Warm fabrics, rich wood, tasteful art (for which he probably owed Pepper a great deal), it was everything he wanted his home to be, and a place he actually looked forward to spending time in.

Now, though, he found himself sitting in one of the common rooms in the Tower, sketchbook in hand, his mind not fully engaged as he just let his fingers draw what they would. It was almost hypnotic, and if he couldn't run or spar or do any other physical activity, this was a close second.

He heard the ding of the elevator—they didn't ding, as a rule, because Tony hadn't programmed them to, but JARVIS knew he liked some warning whenever someone was about to enter the room or floor he was on—and glanced up to find Maria headed his way. They hadn't seen much of each other since he'd been released from the infirmary, so the sight of her in another of those fabulous designer suits Pepper bought her brought a smile to his face.

"Hey, stranger," he said, looking up to find her kicking off her high heels and settling down beside him. 

"Hey yourself," she said. She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, then looked down at his sketchbook as she rested her head on his shoulder. 

"Everything okay?" he asked. It had almost felt like she'd been avoiding him over the last week, but he'd tried to give her the space she appeared to need. 

"Yeah," she said on a sigh. When she didn't say anything else, he set it aside. If she wasn't ready to talk, he wasn't going to push it. Instead, she nudged him in the side. "So, who's that?"

Steve looked back at the drawing he'd been working on. He hadn't realized it, but thoughts of his old apartment in Brooklyn had conjured memories of his best friend—Bucky Barnes—as he'd been when they were kids, all bright-eyed with impish grins that promised epic amounts of trouble were about to be caused.

"I was thinking about the old days," he said quietly, a nostalgic smile on his face. "How Bucky used to drag me out of the apartment so I didn't feel like the walls were closing in."

Maria traced her fingers over the image of a young Bucky. "He's cute. You two must have been a couple of holy terrors growing up."

"When we could be," Steve said, shrugging. "It was hard to get into too much trouble, what with the asthma and a heart condition, but we managed."

"You still miss him," she said, a small, sad smile forming as she looked at him.

Steve returned the smile "Every damned day. I feel like we were getting close, and now this. Am I ever going to find him?"

Maria skimmed her hand along his shoulder, tangling her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and giving him a little shake. "You won't always be like this. Stark's not about to give up and neither should you."

And that, right there, was the rub. He was no good to anyone in his current condition. He couldn't help Bucky, couldn't be there if the Avengers got called out, and a week of feeling like ships passing in the night had made Steve wonder if Maria would cut and run if Stark couldn't figure out how to undo what had been done to him.

"Hey, what's that face for?"

"What face?"

"That one," she said, rubbing her thumb between his eyes. "The one that says your puppy just died."

Steve huffed out a laugh. "Nothing. Just being maudlin again."

Quick as a cat, Maria swung over and planted herself on his lap. It was a bit disconcerting, considering the last time she'd done it, they were eye to eye. Today, she was looking down at him, but the sparkle in her eyes was still there, and the arms around his neck felt reassuringly familiar.

"Tony's going to figure this out and you'll be out there on Bucky's trail before you know it," she said, as if she were recounting the headlines from this morning: not guesses but fact. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Steve looked up at her. "How did you know that's where my thoughts had gone?"

"I know you," she said, shrugging. "Besides, even Captain America is entitled to a pity party every once in a while."

"I think we can all agree that I’m not Captain America right now," he said. He'd even tried picking up the shield the other morning. That had been an exercise in embarrassment that he was glad no one else had seen.

"I think there are a lot of people who'd object to that," she said. "You're not just the suit and the shield, you know. A lot of what makes you Captain America comes from inside you, and I'm not talking about the serum. It's your heart, and last I checked, that Hydra weapon hasn't changed that."

And then, as if to drive her point home, she bent down and kissed him. But instead of a light peck like she'd been doing since this whole thing started, this kiss was all-encompassing, toe curling and intense. Their tongues tangled and danced, familiar and yet different at the same time. Steve wrapped an arm around her waist as he tugged her hair free of its bun, tangling his fingers in her sable locks the first chance he got. As if that was her cue, she settled more firmly into his lap, her body pressing into his creating all sorts of delicious friction. It didn't last long, but when she finally pulled back, she looked as dazed as he felt.

"Okay?" she asked, resting a hand on his chest.

He knew she could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and probably hear the slight wheeze as he tried to get his breath back, but her eyes were locked with his, such utter love and devotion in them that it threatened to take his breath away.

"I love you, so much," he whispered, hardly aware he'd done so until he saw her face soften and a smile tip her lips.

Maria cupped his cheek, dropping a sweet, chaste kiss on his lips. "I love you, too. All of you."

"Hey, Delilah," the disembodied voice of Tony Stark cut through the air, "I thought you were supposed to be bringing Samson down to the lab with you."

Maria groaned, pressing her forehead into Steve's shoulder. "Can I kill him?"

"Probably best not to kill the boss," Steve said. He rubbed Maria's back as he watched Tony stare at them owlishly from the giant-screen tv mounted to the wall across from him. "We'll be there in a few minutes, Tony."

"She said that fifteen minutes ago, and yet—" Tony said right before the video cut out. He'd have to find out who did that and thank them. His money was on Bruce.

"Something's up?" Steve asked.

Maria pulled back to look at him, running her fingers through his hair to brush it back from his forehead. She did that a lot, probably didn't realize she was doing it, but Steve wasn't going to say anything. He liked it; it reminded him of the way his mother used to do the same thing when he wasn't feeling well. It felt like… home.

"Something's up," Maria confirmed with a nod. She pushed up off Steve's lap and extended her hand to him. "Come on. Let's go see what the mad scientist club has cooked up."

Steve smiled as he took her hand, pushing himself up off the couch without help. He didn't let go of her hand, just let her use him for balance as she slipped back into her shoes. As they made their way down to Tony's lab, Steve could only hope that they'd found a solution to the problem. It had only been a week, but he knew somehow that time was of the essence.

~o~

"So, as it turns out, Dr. Erskine was way ahead of his time," Tony said as soon as they stepped off the elevator, as if they'd just walked in on the middle of a conversation. Bruce stood to one side, the tiniest smirk on his face, like he knew just what Steve was thinking. He probably did.

"Erskine tapped into some epigenetic modifiers to alter your DNA," he went on, as Steve and Maria joined him at the console. "Now, I don't know if he used zinc finger nucleases or maybe Cas9 CRISPR systems—"

"Tony," Bruce muttered.

"Right," Tony said, flashing them all one of his trademarked grins. "The point being, this stuff was advanced in a way that people should have been asking if he'd time travelled to figure it out." He paused, giving Steve the side-eye. "He didn't, did he? Time travel, I mean?"

Steve chuckled. "No, Tony. He didn't time travel. He was just as smart as you."

Tony huffed, as if the idea that someone could be as smart as he was was somehow an affront to his unique intellect. Before Tony could pick up steam and go off on another tangent, Maria interrupted.

"So, in English, for those of us who barely passed high school biology."

"Basically," Bruce said, short-circuiting whatever brilliant bullshit Tony was about to utter, "Dr. Erskine discovered a way to flip the switch on your genetics, to turn on the genes responsible for your super strength and healing ability, among other things."

"The Super Soldier serum," Steve said.

"In part," Bruce said, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "But the Vita-Rays also played a part. The serum can't do anything on its own; there has to be some sort of activator."

"Which is where Howard's vita-Rays come in," Tony said, taking over the narrative. "The serum was likely delivered via something like a dendromer—a photosensitive molecule—that broke apart when bombarded by the radiation, allowing the epigenetic modifiers to flood your system and switch on your DNA."

"So, the radiation was the key part," Maria said.

"They're both key," Bruce said. "The serum needs the radiation to activate, and the radiation alone can't modify his DNA."

"So, why am I back to what I was before Project Rebirth?"

"That's the cool part!" Tony exclaimed. He either ignored or didn't even see the frown Bruce sent him. "The serum's still in your system. Whatever Hydra used on you didn't remove it, it just deactivated it. Theoretically speaking, if we could replicate that, we have a shot at reactivating the serum and restoring your upgrades."

"Okay, so how do we do that?" Steve asked.

"I think I may be able to help with that."

They turned as one to find Natasha Romanov striding into the lab, a familiar face bobbing along behind her.

"Clint!" Steve said, smiling at his friend. His smile dimmed a bit when he saw how tired the archer looked. "You okay?"

Clint waved off his concern as they shook hands. "Yeah, it's just been a helluva couple of months. Hey, didn't you used to be taller?"

Steve shook the proffered hand, smirking. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Clint had been the shortest member of the Avengers, but now that Steve had reverted back to his pre-serum body, he'd gone back to being the shortest person in any room.

"So, what've you got Legolas?" Tony asked as Steve hugged Natasha.

Clint unslung his backpack, pulling a small black case from inside. "You tell me."

He opened up the case and turned it to face Tony. Steve leaned around to see two small capsules, each about the size of a pistol magazine, both glowing blue.

"JARVIS?" Tony asked, his eyes never leaving the contents of the case.

"The energy signature matches both that of the Tesseract and the Phase Two weapons SHIELD was developing," JARVIS said.

"Tesseract batteries," Tony blurted.

Clint nodded. "Basically."

Steve saw Bruce edging away from the batteries; he couldn't really blame the man. The gamma radiation that had turned him into the Hulk shared a signature with the Tesseract, even though it wasn't exactly the same.

"Where did you find these?" Maria asked.

Clint shared a look with Natasha, who had yet to say anything. They seemed to have a whole conversation in just a moment. Steve found it fascinating that they knew each other well enough to not need words.

"One of the last things Fury did before he died was to send Clint on a mission to infiltrate a lab he hadn't set up," she said. She flicked her eyes to Steve for a moment, and he nodded ever so slightly. Fury needed to stay dead for a little while longer. "He'd been concerned for a while that there was more going on than he could see."

"But obviously, he couldn’t go inspect it; technically, he wasn't even supposed to know about it," Clint said. "So he sent me."

"That's where you were when we took down SHIELD?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, and I'm headed back there just as soon as we fix you." Clint shrugged. "It's definitely a Hydra facility, and there's a helluva lot more going on there than meets the eye. I'm hoping I can take it down from the inside."

"So, we've got the battery," Maria said. "All we need now is the device to deliver the energy."

"I could probably—"

Whatever Tony was about to say was cut off by Clint's next words. "Actually, I think I may be able to help with that, too."

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"I mean, I know a guy who might be able to get his hands on the schematics," Clint said. "Maybe even a prototype, if we're lucky."

"And just how do you propose to do that?" Tony asked. "Last time I checked, Hydra wasn't running a 'Gadgets-R-Us' out of the local strip mall."

"No, but it's Hydra, right?" Clint asked, then went on as if he hadn't even asked. "All their tech comes out of CyberTech."

"Right, so we'll just call them up and ask for the latest Super Soldier deactivation beam," Tony snarked.

"Theoretically, they had to build it somewhere," Bruce said. 

All eyes turned to him. Steve had almost forgotten the man was still in the room. He'd faded back once the Tesseract batteries had made their appearance, but he'd edged back into the cluster they'd formed around the work bench. Steve reached out and closed the lid on the box, earning a grateful smile from Bruce.

"They've probably got schematics somewhere," Bruce went on. "If we could find those, we could build a copy and use their own batteries to power it."

Steve glanced around the room, seeing only determined faces staring back at him. "Then I guess we have a mission to plan."

~o~


End file.
